


A cat may look at a King

by petrichor3145



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Happy Ending, Insecurity, M/M, Slow-ish burn, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24131503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrichor3145/pseuds/petrichor3145
Summary: An account of Yamaguchi Tadashi's life as he tries to ignore the obvious, telling ache in his heart when he looks at Tsukishima and the nagging feeling that while he wasn't looking, something has gone very, very wrong.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 160





	1. Chapter One

The gym is heavy with sweat from hours of volleyball practice. The sun is sinking below the window, casting a dark shadow in the corners of the room. Tadashi grabs his water bottle, almost empty even after three refills, and gulps the last of it down his aching throat. Tsukishima does the same beside him, glowing in the final rays of light passing through the gym.

Tadashi becomes acutely aware of two problems at the same time. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he tells Tsukishima, who nods and says “I’ll wait for you,” and Tadashi is off, pacing quickly through the hall toward the men’s toilets.

He rubs a sticky palm through his hair. He enters the bathroom. It’s unoccupied.

Checking each stall door first to make sure, Tadashi heaves a shaky sigh of relief. If anyone _had_ been in here, his behavior would have already been labeled as odd. He paces back towards the sink, and stares at his reflection in the mirror.

The same eyes as always blink back at him. The same freckled face and knotted, brown hair. Tadashi compulsively straightens as he stares at himself in the dimly lit bathroom. He turns to the side and loops his fingers around the hair at the base of his neck, which always grows up against the forces of gravity, and he tugs. He stares at his arms in the mirror, wiry and skinny. He stares at the way his face contorts from the hair-pulling. It feels a bit like witnessing an autopsy.

Tadashi stops pulling the hair and shifts his focus to the skin under his eyes, which is purple and swelled from staying up past 3 am last night and waking up at 7. Maybe the absence of sleep is what’s caused his head to feel light and two seconds from floating away or dropping all day, and what’s causing the nervous thrumming in his veins and the hysteria at the base of his throat. Or maybe it’s about how Tsukki was just a little more detached than usual this morning, a little harsher. Usually Tadashi knows how to take it and exactly why he’s acting up, but he just hadn’t found the energy this morning to take on Tsukki’s bad mood, or to interpret his words as anything other than cutting and hurtful.

He knows Tsukki’s noticed, but hasn’t said anything, and that his friend has been consciously containing himself since then. Tadashi feels bad, because he’s supposed to be the one who doesn’t let Tsukki get to him, who always understands him. But the guilt has just made him less able to confront his friend. He needs to ask Tsukki _what’s wrong_ , but today he just doesn’t know how and his head is too jumbled and his new little _problem_ has been soaking up too much energy for him to do much of anything besides nod along to Tsukki’s words.

Tadashi stares at the skin below his eyes and sobs once, loud and quick and dry. He watches his own eyes widen and claps a hand over his mouth quickly, hoping nobody overheard. He watches as the tears rush down his cheeks and turn his face unattractively red with an almost detached feeling, like he’s only upset on the surface; but the thought makes him feel even worse, and another sob bubbles up his throat. He tries to silence his mind. It keeps coming up with insult after insult after insult, a cynical testimony Tadashi already knows. He knows he’s ugly. Once he had first thought the words in his head, since then, they haven’t stopped. He says them to himself every chance he gets. Every time something goes wrong.

Tadashi asks for a bite of Tsukki’s lunch and Tsukki pushes his hands away? Ugly.

Tadashi wishes his parents goodnight just a little too softly and they don’t respond? Ugly, no excuses.

Hinata and Kageyama wander by him at practice without saying hi? Ugly. Most definitely.

It’s cruel, Tadashi thinks. It’s his mind’s cruel side coming out and targeting him, for some reason, and ever since this terrible school year started he hasn’t been able to get it to shut up. Viscerally, he thinks, _I’m ugly. Everyone I know hates me. Even my parents can’t bother with me sometimes. My classmates and teammates hate me. Tsukki can’t stand me. Why does he put up with me? I can’t even make him laugh. He—_

“Tadashi?”

Ah. Tsukki has come for him. Tadashi was taking too long. He hears a knock at the door, and makes a beeline for the stall. He can’t let Tsukki see him like this—eyes bloodshot and silent tears still streaming down his face, nose welling up and mouth contorted with pain. He closes the stall door as quickly and quietly as possible, which is quite difficult considering how much his hands are shaking. He’s almost proud, until something inside of him goes _you’re ugly_ again and reminds him why he’s in this situation in the first place.

The door cracks open. Tsukki is hesitant, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Tsukki is careful about everything he does. Tadashi wonders whether Tsukki heard him crying, and if so what his excuse is. Because it can’t be the truth. His problem is none of Tsukki’s business, and even if Tadashi can’t fix it himself that doesn’t mean Tsukki would be any better equipped.

Besides, it’s embarrassing.

“Tadashi?” Tsukki calls again. “I know you’re in there.”

Tadashi watches Tsukki’s feet move towards him from under the stall door. He uses the only good excuse he’s got. “Sorry, Tsukki,” he sniffles, “I just felt sick all of a sudden.” His voice is wrecked, he knows, but if he can just manage to convince him… 

The feet come to a dead halt. “Sick?” Tadashi hears. “To your stomach?”

Tadashi feels the guilt drop over him like an anvil. Tsukki’s one weakness: he’s afraid of the stomach flu. And Tadashi is lying to him, and using this fact to his advantage. He sounds miserable as he says, “I think so,” which probably only adds to his credibility if anything. He wonders if lying is worth it.

The feet are still locked to one spot, though, and Tadashi anticipates the next question. “I haven’t thrown up. Not yet,” he says.

He imagines what Tsukki’s face looks like, right now; a deep, unhappy scowl, Tsukki reaching up to adjust his glasses. Fear. Fear manifests itself as distaste in Tsukishima, Tadashi has learned. And that’s because never, through all these years, has he seen Tsukki make a face which even vaguely resembles fear the way it looks on other people. It’s always distaste, unease, clenched teeth and a fierce scowl.

“I’ll go find someone to take you home,” Tsukki says. And then he practically runs out of the room.

Predictable, is what it is. Tsukki is rarely predictable, but he has his moments. Tadashi sighs in relief and wipes his eyes, figuring he now has a couple minutes to get his appearance to return to some semblance of normality.

He leaves the stall and splashes some water in his eyes. He dabs at the lingering redness in his cheeks with a wet paper towel. He takes a breath in, holds it, and releases it. Tadashi tries to remember what ‘normal’ feels like; very far away, that’s for sure, though it was there only about ten minutes ago. He resists the urge to stare at his reflection because he knows he won’t be able to contain his hatred for long after he does.

Only a minute later, Hinata and Kageyama enter the bathroom. Hinata insists that Kageyama absolutely carry Tadashi on his back, and it takes a good deal of convincing on both his and Kageyama’s parts before Hinata admits that Tadashi doesn’t really look like he’s about to collapse and instead lets him walk sandwiched between the two of them all the way home. They bicker and fight the whole way, but Tadashi can’t pretend to be upset by it. Instead, the constant stream of warring dialogue works like a balm on his weary, aching brain, assuring him that everything is just as he’d left it before he stepped into the bathroom. Everything is still the same.

Except, even as Tadashi’s mood lifts and he manages to conjure up a laugh at the two’s antics, the new worry chips at him. _You’re ugly_ , it whispers as he makes a snide comment on Hinata’s apparently “dumb as hell” taste in hats. _You’re ugly._

Tsukishima avoids him like the plague for a whole week after, but Tadashi thinks to himself it’s worth it.

\---

Tadashi has found a new enemy in the form of his bathroom mirror.

The problem is getting worse lately, Tadashi has noticed, but he’s powerless to stop it. Some days he just finds himself staring at the mirror and ruminating about all the things which make him ugly. He can’t help it when his reflection is _right there_ , mocking him with its utter permanency. He can’t get rid of it. He can’t change it. But there it is.

Tadashi has been blessed with the privacy of his own personal bathroom attached to his room, a small perk which his parents had been overjoyed about when they bought the house. Against the wall and above the sink in this bathroom, there is a mirror. This mirror is the bane of Tadashi’s existence. Every time he takes a shower, it shows him the top half of his bare, hideous body. Like a car wreck, Tadashi always stops to stare. Every single time.

Today, Tadashi has an idea. He puts down his Calculus homework and quietly walks over to the bathroom, tiles cold under his feet. He inspects the mirror. It’s removable.

Tadashi’s eyes flicker over to the door of his room, the door from which either of his parents could emerge at any moment. But it’s 10 pm, and both of his parents are morning people, and Tadashi comes to a decision. He takes one last look at his reflection, which has been actively tormenting him for months now, and uproots the mirror. It lurches forward dangerously, almost toppling him over, before Tadashi steadies his back against the wall and eases the mirror to the floor. It makes a soft ‘plunk’ as it hits the ground, nothing noticeable to anyone but him. He sighs in relief, staring at the now opaque green wall, and shoves the mirror into the crack between the counter and the wall with perhaps more force than necessary.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Tadashi returns to his homework without fanfare, trying to ignore the way his stomach twists when he opens his laptop and the black screen reflects his own face back at him in the harsh light of his room.

 _Ugly_ , his mind whispers, but Tadashi studiously ignores it in favor of taking the double derivative of f(x).

\---

“Hey, mom…”

“Yes?”

His mother is standing in front of the stove, stirring a pan of simmering vegetables, while Tadashi sits on a stool next to the island. He’s trying not to focus on how hard his heart is pounding, how he feels lightheaded and nauseous at the scent of food even though his mom’s cooking usually smells delicious.

“Do you think I’m good-looking?”

Tadashi carefully frames the question as a positive. Not, “Am I ugly?” That would make her worry. But he needs to know.

His mom smiles incredulously and stares. “Where’s this coming from, all of a sudden?”

Tadashi stares at the countertop and shrugs. His face feels hot.

“I’ll have you know you’re every bit as handsome as your father,” she says proudly, gesturing him to get the plates out of the cupboard. “Why? Were you worried? Girl troubles?” she teases, eyes flashing.

Tadashi’s mind abruptly flashes to Tsukki, Tsukki’s voice, Tsukki’s face. Tsukishima Kei. _Why?_ he asks himself, cheeks burning. _Where did that come from?_

“N—no! No reason!” Tadashi shouts too loudly, burying his face in his hands. “Just wondering,” he mumbles moments later. He hears his mother giggle as she preheats the oven.

\---

Tadashi is sitting in his room, later, after dinner, thinking about what his mom said. He’s come to two conclusions.

One: _she_ might think he’s handsome, but that doesn’t mean anything. She’s his mom, she kind of _has_ to think he’s handsome, and also she could be lying or she could just like his appearance because Tadashi knows he looks kind of like his father. Besides, his dad is probably average at most. Nothing like Tadashi, at least his dad has that going for him, but still. And besides, his mom might just not want to hurt his feelings by calling him what he really is: _ugly_.

Tadashi has concluded that his mom’s words don’t mean anything.

Two: Tadashi has figured out the reason why he thought of Tsukishima earlier when his mom mentioned girls. It’s a known fact among their volleyball team that Tsukki is really, _really_ popular with the girls. Tadashi has had to field more inquiries about Tsukki’s relationship status than he can count.

Not that the attention is unjustified, Tadashi thinks; Tsukki is tall, handsome, and stoic, with perfect blonde hair curled around the nape of his long neck and perfect, pale skin which flushes easily and pretty, curving eyes with long, blonde lashes and full, crescent-shaped lips which seem to glisten in the sun and lots and lots of things which Tadashi doesn’t have.

And to top it off, he’s smart and intuitive and responsible and really, _really_ cool. Maybe the coolest person Tadashi has ever met. He exudes cool.

It’s an unfair comparison, really. Of course Tadashi is mad that girls don’t look at him the way they look at Tsukki, how their eyes slip past him; of course Tadashi is jealous.

He’s hideous, after all; mousy hair which always tangles unattractively behind his ears, the freckles which make his face look perpetually dirty and gross, small eyes and mud-colored irises, a jaw which cuts too close to his mouse and fades as it reaches his ear, and a prominent Adam’s apple.

Looking back on his question to his mother, Tadashi feels ashamed. He feels ashamed for putting her in a position to lie like that, and for making her compare him to his father as if he’s anything close to presentable. He feels ashamed for making her assume that he doesn’t already _know_ he’s ugly, and for not letting his appearance go unmentioned. He tucks his knees into his body (too bony) and wraps his arms around them, wishing he could un-learn the truth: which is that all this time, his brain was right. He’s ugly.

Tadashi buries his face in his pillow.

\---

Tadashi sits with Tsukki and Hinata and Kageyama eating lunch about a week later. He’s been packing more food in his lunchbox lately because even without the mirror in his bathroom he can see that he’s too thin, but trying to eat it all just makes him feel sick. Tsukki has noticed and begun stealing food off him. It makes Tadashi want to punch himself in the face.

Hinata is silent for once, idly scrolling through his phone, when he suddenly smiles and shouts, “Yamaguchi, look! It’s you!”

Tadashi glances up from poking at his rice with his chopsticks and flinches at the sudden image of himself at a volleyball match, doing a serve. He can’t take his eyes off it. The hair on his head is so flat and greasy that it exposes the unnatural curves of his skull, his jaw is slack and his eyes are beady and unfocused, his nose is too big for the rest of his features, his legs are bent at an awkward angle and his expression is nervous and foolish and makes him want to crawl into a hole and die. “Where did you find that?” he hears himself ask, recoiling from the photo after staring at it for too long, blinking wildly, trying in vain to rid himself of the mental image.

“On Facebook?” Hinata answers, cocking his head and furrowing his brow. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Tadashi says quickly, feeling the weight of Kageyama and Tsukki’s stares, “nothing! Just not used to having my picture taken.”

This is not true. He vaguely remembers that, in his youth, his father would take pictures of him all the time, print out the best ones and hang them on the mantlepiece in the living room for his mother to coo at. It was practically a family pastime, and it never used to bother him before. Tadashi now recalls the memory with second-hand embarrassment for his younger self.

“Oh,” Hinata says with big brown eyes, “that’s sad, Yamaguchi.”

Tadashi doesn’t think so.

Suddenly, Hinata lights up. “I know!” he says, “How about I take a picture of you right now?”

“Ah, no thanks, that’s—”

“Aw, come on!” Hinata crows, already scrolling to the camera app on his phone. “It’s no big deal, right?”

“No really it’s fine—”

“Say cheese!” Hinata is holding the camera up, getting ready to take a shot and Tadashi just really really can’t, his face is probably red and stupid-looking and he can’t take it, Hinata’s just making fun of him and he can’t he won’t he doesn’t he’s not—

“STOP!”

It takes Tadashi a second to realize that the reason why everyone is staring at him is because that deafening roar had come from _him_ , and he’s currently holding Hinata’s phone but he doesn’t remember wrestling it away from him, and he feels like he could just curl up and _die_. Even Tsukki is staring at him with unabashed shock, glasses slipping from the bridge of his nose and exposing his wide, judging eyes and Tadashi can’t take it so he drops the phone on the ground like it burns and mutters, “Sorry, Hinata.”

He wishes he could make his mouth say more than that, but nothing else comes to mind so he just stays silent. His face is on fire. He can’t bring himself to look up from the grass.

Eventually, eternities later, Hinata clears his throat and mutters, “What was _that_?” and the acid in Tadashi’s stomach turns to molten lava and his eyes start to sting. He doesn’t have an answer; or, at least, not a good one.

“Sorry,” he says again like a broken record, voice very small.

The group stews in silence for a few moments longer before, blessedly, the bell rings. It sounds like salvation.

Tadashi jumps up so quickly it makes his head spin and leaves for class without a word. He doesn’t look back to see what he’s left behind.

 _They know_ , says a voice in his head as he stubbornly marches away, heart thumping painfully, _They know that you think you’re ugly._

But he _is_. Can’t they see it? Why would Hinata tease him like that, holding the fact over his head? It was like he _wanted_ Tadashi to admit it, admit that he was ugly right in front of Tsukki, and even if he _is_ he can’t just come out and say something like that because _it’s not normal._

Tadashi drowns the thoughts out all the way up the stairs and down the hallway toward his English class, all the way to when he takes his seat right at the front. He didn’t choose his seat; he hates the way it feels like everyone is staring at his back. If anything he wishes he’d been put next to Tsukki, though that might not have come in handy right now because—

Something cold touches his shoulder, and Tadashi tremors violently. He whips his gaze toward the cause and sees Tsukki staring down at him, an unreadable look in his eye, and Tadashi’s lunchbox in his hand which he had used to get Tadashi’s attention. A cold sweat breaks out on Tadashi’s neck as he realizes that he’d forgotten he and Tsukishima share the same class right after lunch. What an idiot.

“You forgot this,” Tsukki says, and it sounds almost like an accusation.

Tadashi gulps and nods, accepting the box with shaking hands. Tsukki stares at them openly, and Tadashi rushes to shove them in his lap after dumping the lunchbox unceremoniously on his desk. Tsukki sits down in the desk next to him.

“Ah, Tsukki, that’s—”

“I know for a fact that this desk is unoccupied,” Tsukki interrupts, words infuriatingly flat and toneless.

“You don’t have time—”

“There’s six minutes until the next bell rings.”

Tadashi is silenced. They stare at each other.

Finally, Tsukki speaks up. “So, what was that about?”

Tadashi’s heart can’t take much more of the pressure; it’s going to burst out of his chest and all the blood will leave him in one fell swoop and maybe it would be better that way. Still, Tadashi answers, “I was surprised.” It’s the only defense he’s got, and it sucks. _Ugly._

Tsukki actually laughs. “Yamaguchi. That’s not how someone acts when they’re surprised. Hell, I’ve never seen you do that before in my entire life.”

Tadashi finds temporary relief in the observation that at least Tsukki doesn’t seem angry. Baffled, maybe, but the telltale twitching of his brows is more or less nonexistent right now. He starts to think maybe he’s off the hook after all.

“Ah, well—you know…”

“No, I don’t know,” Tsukki says sharply, suddenly staring Tadashi down with surprising intensity. “I need you to tell me what exactly that was about.”

“Wh—I—Why?” Tadashi settles on, hands clenching around his lunchbox. He’ll do anything, _anything_ to avoid having to tell Tsukki why he did that. _Because I’m ugly_ , his mind shouts, but something visceral and instinctual tells Tadashi not to let Tsukki know how much of an ugly pathetic loser he is at all costs. More than anyone else, Tsukki can’t know. Because… he doesn’t know why. He just knows he can’t.

“Why?” Tsukki scoffs, cruel and mocking. “Because, Yamaguchi—” he spits the name out and it makes Tadashi ache— “believe it or not, we’ve been friends since we were nine years old. I _know_ you. I’ve never seen you act like that before, and I need to know why.”

Shame roils in Tadashi’s chest. He’s never denied Tsukki anything before. Not his pencils, or his umbrella, or anything Tsukki could ever ask for, not that he asks for much. Still, Tadashi would give him anything, anything at all.

Except this.

“I’m not sure, Tsukki,” he mutters quietly, just loud enough for his friend to hear and glare at him incredulously. Tsukki knows, knows what Tadashi’s just done, and he’s as baffled as Tadashi expected at the obvious betrayal. He stands suddenly, and when Tadashi accidentally catches his eye, he sees the unguarded shock on Tsukki’s face. That’s new. It also makes Tadashi sick to his stomach.

Angry and thrown off his game, Tsukki ducks onto his knees until his face is at Tadashi’s level and hisses, “I will find out what’s been going on with you. I _will_.”

Beneath the anger, Tadashi thinks he might see a hint of _worry_ thrown in with the careless posture and twisted mouth. He relishes and rejects the idea, and says nothing. The teacher enters the room, and Tsukki stalks away with a chip on his shoulder large enough to make the students in his immediate radius cower.

A thrill almost as distinctive as the guilt shoots down Tadashi’s spine as he stares after a Tsukishima so _obviously_ affected; it’s something he’s never seen before, either, and it saddens him but equally excites him. He doesn’t know why.

 _I’m sorry_ , he thinks, _I just can’t tell you what I think of myself. Because, because—_

Finally, everything clicks into place. Tadashi inhales sharply. _Because what if he agrees with me?_

\---

So Tadashi has decided that Tsukki _absolutely can not_ know about why he’s been acting so strange lately, and now he’s suffering the consequences. Tsukki can be absolutely _evil_ when he wants to be, and he knows just how to make Tadashi tick.

There’s a girl. At his desk. Talking to him. And usually Tadashi spends his breaks next to Tsukki, and usually that’s enough to fend off the girls, but since now they’re technically fighting Tadashi feels like he can’t just waltz over there like nothing’s wrong, but now there is a girl at Tsukki’s desk who is openly, unashamedly flirting with him.

And that wouldn’t be so bad were Tsukki not _flirting back_.

Tadashi can make out bits of the conversation if he really strains his ears. It sounds something like, “So Tsukishima-kun, do you have any hobbies other than volleyball?”

Watching animal documentaries. Origami. Baking. Astronomy.

“I play piano, sometimes,” Tsukishima shrugs.

Tadashi’s eyes narrow. Not true. Or, well, mostly not true. He _had_ taken piano lessons against his will for about a month when they were in sixth grade, but Tsukki hadn’t been interested and had made that abundantly clear to the poor piano teacher. His mom had let him quit with little resistance after that. Is Tsukki trying to _impress_ this girl?

“Oh, really?” the girl gushes, hearts coming out of her eyes. “That’s so cool!”

Tsukki _smiles_ , an honest-to-god grin that stretches wide and handsome across his face. Is this jealousy Tadashi is feeling towards Tsukki, the girl, or Tsukki’s stupidly attractive face? He doesn’t know anymore. All he knows is that when the girl finally looks away, Tsukki turns a much more sinister grin on Tadashi himself. It’s smug. It says, “Stop me if you dare.” Tadashi burns with rage.

Tadashi makes a decision, split-second, and stands up, marching over to Tsukki’s desk with battle music playing on repeat in the back of his head. The girl is laughing at something Tsukki just said. Tadashi reaches out one of his shaking hands and taps her on the shoulder while Tsukki watches him, calculating.

Crap, she’s gorgeous. It makes Tadashi feel like a grain of sand by comparison, standing in front of two people so far above him. “Excuse me,” he starts as she regards him with a flicker of annoyance, “you’re Sakura-san, right?”

“Yes?” she replies, eyes flitting between Tadashi and Tsukki.

Tadashi coughs. “I, uh—” quick, what can he say to get her to stop flirting with Tsukki?—Confess? But that wouldn’t be right and besides it would just disgust her—Tell her the teacher wants something? No, she just saw him get up from his desk—ah, his face is getting red again and the girl is still staring—

Tsukki apparently takes pity on him and interrupts. “Oh, Tadashi. I forgot I needed to ask you something about the assignment from yesterday. Sorry,” Tsukki says, turning to the girl with an honest-to-god apologetic look on his face, “can we pick this back up later?”

Tadashi bristles at the mention of “later,” but the girl just nods and spares one more odd look at Tadashi before she saunters away, displeased.

Tsukki leans his elbows on his desk and his chin on his hands. “Yamaguchi,” he says pointedly.

“Yes?”

Tsukki sighs. “Nothing. Did you want to eat lunch?”

Tadashi suddenly sparks to life and says, “Oh, yes, of course, Tsukki! I’ll go grab it now!”

Tsukki nods as Tadashi rushes off to grab his lunch, beaming. Everything is okay. Tsukki has forgiven him, and he doesn’t seem mad anymore.

Even once their routine has returned to normal, though, something is still slightly off. It’s the way Tsukki looks at Tadashi just a little longer than usual when they’re talking, as if he’s searching for something, or the way he insists they stay at each other’s houses just a little more often than usual. It’s like he’s waiting for an “aha” moment, something that definitively proves that Tadashi is hiding something.

Tadashi is determined not to give him one.

\---

Tadashi has picked up a new bad habit lately.

He’ll be doing his homework in bed, scratching restlessly at the note page, when at random times he feels the urge to take out his phone and open the camera app and just… stare at himself.

It’s so weird. It’s weird because he took down his bathroom mirror a month ago just so he wouldn’t have to stare at himself in the mirror every day, and here he is doing it like… every ten minutes.

He hates it.

He likes to drop the phone between the covers of his blankets and angle it towards his face and sort of pick at the blemishes covering his face. He’ll take his thumb and rub it compulsively over a red spot on his chin, and when he can’t do that it makes him feel like he’s about to explode. He’ll stare at the freckles on the bridge of his nose and wonder, _would it be worth it to raid mom’s makeup cabinet to cover this up? Would she notice? Would they notice?_

Even at school, it’s like an incessant itch to pick at a bump or scratch on his face and wonder if when the teacher looks at him, she’s actually looking at _him_ or at the imperfections littered across his features and judging them.

It’s exhausting.

He wishes he could return to a time when he didn’t care about these things, but ever since that night in the bathroom, there’s no off-switch on the mantra in his head, chanting _ugly ugly ugly…_

Ugly. He wishes so badly he could ask Tsukki whether or not he thinks Tadashi is ugly, because he cares so much about Tsukki’s opinion and he’s the one person who would never lie to Tadashi, but the taller boy already knows something’s up and would inevitably fit the pieces together if Tadashi were to ask something that conspicuous. 

And besides, it’s too _embarrassing_. It’s vain, Tadashi knows full well how conceited he’s being, but he just can’t help it. He’ll stare at a reflective surface whatever chance he gets, be it in the form of a puddle or a metal spoon, and curse himself for looking the way he does. Overbite, bags under his eyes, blemished skin. Like he even deserves to stand next to Tsukki, who is probably the most attractive boy in their grade, with his disgusting appearance.

He hasn’t been able to face the old photos of himself on the mantlepiece, lately, but he did find the picture Hinata had showed him at lunch and is currently staring at it with tears running silently down his cheeks. Tadashi used to be a terribly loud crier (something Tsukki always despised), but he’s gotten used to crying noiselessly lately.

Tadashi flicks to the camera app and looks himself in the eye for maybe the billionth time in a matter of days. This time, his eyebrows are scrunched up in pain, eyes beneath them big and round and brimming with unshed tears. His nose is raw and red and it burns. His cheeks are pink and patchy. His mouth is pinched. The tears are leaking, dripping onto his sweatshirt and forming a wet patch under his chin. He looks… vulnerable, maybe, and infinitely unhappy.

Ugly.

Tadashi sighs loudly, involuntarily gasping a second later in the aftermath of such a long crying session. He feels terrible, almost physically sick after crying so much, and falls asleep soon after, nestled in the cheap comfort of his blanket and a cool, dark room. His fears chase him even in his sleep.

\---

Tsukki sets his bag under the chair near Tadashi’s desk, the desk which is never used unless Tsukki is over. Tadashi flings his onto his bed and plops across it, exhausted. He’s been exhausted more and more lately.

Tsukki eyes him steadily. “Homework?” he asks, taking a seat at the desk and already fishing his notebook out of his bag.

Tadashi scrambles upright. “Of course, Tsukki!”

Tsukki smirks. “How have you been managing the Calculus lately?”

Not good, Tadashi doesn’t say. “Fine. Not as good as you.”

“Shut up,” Tsukki says, then, “I can help you if you want.”

“Okay,” Tadashi says, a little too quickly. Tsukki smiles again and turns to his homework.

Thirty problems. Great. Tadashi sighs and turns on his graphing calculator, preparing for a night full of torture and begging Tsukki to just give him the answer, already, so he can sleep in peace.

Awhile into their study session, once they’ve fallen into a comfortable silence, Tsukki reaches across his desk and nudges Tadashi’s foot. “Bathroom,” he says, and gets up to leave once Tadashi nods.

Tadashi has just rather impressively finished a difficult problem when Tsukki returns a minute later. His posture is stiff, and instead of returning to the desk he walks straight up to Tadashi.

“Yamaguchi.”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s the mirror?”

“… What?”

“The mirror,” Tsukki presses, “in the bathroom.”

Tadashi pales. Crap. The mirror. He’d left it down and nearly forgotten about its existence entirely until now. Tsukki is staring at him as if he’s grown a second head, and Tadashi has to say _something._

“Ah, that! Um, it broke…”

He prays that Tsukki didn’t notice it crammed up between the wall and the sink, completely untouched. If he did… well…

“ _How?_ ”

Tadashi’s face feels unbearably hot. Oh, right, _how_. He wants to bury his head in his hands and run his fingers through his hair, but he _can’t_ because Tsukki is pushing him for an answer, equally imploring and bewildered. It really is strange, isn’t it? To hate your own reflection so much you hide your mirror so you don’t have to look at it? How could he possibly put that into words?

“It was an accident?” Tadashi tries, voice small and weak to his own ears.

Tsukki growls. “Like I said, an accident _how_?”

“I fell!” Tadashi cries, in a hurry to give an explanation he can’t give. “On, uh… top of it?”

“You—”

“Against it, against it!” Tadashi hurries to correct. “I slipped, and… fell.”

Tsukki sits, abruptly, on the bed in the space next to Tadashi. “Yamaguchi. I know you’re lying to me,” he murmurs. Tsukki’s fists are clenched tightly around the sheets. Tadashi can’t see his face.

Tadashi doesn’t say anything; it’s true.

“You’ve been acting weird lately. More… tired, and you don’t chat with the idiot duo as much as you normally do, and the thing with the picture, and the mirror… Just, do you know what this looks like?”

Tadashi is afraid to know what Tsukki thinks of him now; afraid to shake his head no. Tsukki’s eyes trail up from where they’ve been fixed somewhere on the floor to meet his gaze. He’s thinking, making a decision, coming to a conclusion, and for once, Tadashi has absolutely no idea what it is.

Finally, Tsukki sighs. “Never mind,” he says and rises from the bed, walking over to retrieve his bag.

“You’re leaving?” Tadashi says by pure instinct, hand automatically reaching out.

Tsukki looks at him sharply. “Yes,” he snaps. “You won’t tell me what’s going on and I’m sick of it. Maybe even you don’t know, I have no idea.” He pauses. “Anyway, I need to think, so I’ll see you later.”

With that, the door clicks shut behind him. Tadashi is left alone in the room.

After he finishes his homework, Tadashi shuts off the lights and crawls into bed. He presses the lids of his eyes into his pillow.

It’s still damp the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's the end of the first chapter! Hope you enjoyed it!


	2. Chapter Two

Tsukki doesn’t meet him at their usual place in the morning, so Tadashi walks to school alone. He guesses he should have been expecting this, but the truth of it still stabs him repeatedly in the chest. The air is warm and sticky and grimy. Tadashi feels the same. _Ugly_.

In class, he has a hard time keeping his hands away from his face. They’re itching to pinch, pull, scrape at that bump on his chin, and whenever he’s not consciously keeping them from doing that, they inconveniently travel back to that one spot. Pinching, pulling, scraping.

It’s worse than usual. Everything is.

At lunch, he doesn’t go over to Tsukki’s desk, and Tsukki doesn’t seek him out. Tadashi eats alone instead, wishing for the first time in his life that he and Tsukki _weren’t_ in the same class so this wouldn’t be so unbearably awkward.

About ten minutes into Tadashi staring at his okonomiyaki like it killed his family, Hinata and Kageyama appear at the classroom doors and usher him over. Tadashi forcefully pulls his hand away from his face and stands up, heart beating painfully. He hasn’t spoken to them much outside of volleyball since… ah, the picture incident.

Once they’re outside the classroom, Tadashi looks at the two questioningly. Hinata is staring intently at something off to the side of Tadashi’s left shoulder, meanwhile Kageyama is gazing awkwardly at the ground. Tadashi waits patiently, mind going _you’re ugly ugly ugly and now they know, they’ve come to tell you so just you wait and see—_

Hinata bows suddenly. “I’m sorry!” he shouts, hands clenched into fists while Kageyama stares at him a little stunned. “I’ve— _we_ have been acting weird around you for a while now, ever since we ate lunch together and you—well, it doesn’t matter. Point is, we haven’t been good friends to you lately, and I— _we_ are sorry.”

Hinata gives Kageyama a pointed stare beside him. “Aren’t we?”

Kageyama nods fervently and mutters, “Yes. Yeah.”

Tadashi manages to close his mouth after a moment of staring in shock. That wasn’t at all what he expected. “Ah—um, it’s okay! I mean, _I’m_ sorry for the way I acted, you don’t really have to apologize. It was rash, and, and an overreaction.” Tadashi tries to smile and hates how insecure it probably comes across. “I really don’t know why I did that,” he mumbles.

Hinata’s own enthusiasm fades a little at Tadashi’s words. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, right? We can be friends again, right?”

Tadashi nods, biting his tongue. “Of course! I promise I won’t do anything like that again,” he says, telling himself he _won’t, absolutely won’t_. All his behavior has seemed to do lately is push the people he cares about away, and that just won’t do.

“Stop that,” says a voice from behind him, and Tadashi jumps three feet in the air. It’s Tsukki, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets and a sour look on his face. Talking to him.

“Gah! Stingyshima! Where did you come from?” Hinata shouts, flinging a finger in Tsukki’s face. Tsukki stares at it like it’s a particularly quashable insect.

“The classroom, idiot. Oh, and what are you and the King doing near the college prep classes today?”

Hinata averts his eyes and shifts uncomfortably. “Apologizing to Yamaguchi, not that it’s any of your business.”

“What for?” Tsukki asks blithely. Tadashi gawks openly, which Tsukishima ignores.

“What for?” Hinata repeats, stumbling over his words. “You know—! You were there. The um, ah, the thing about the picture.”

“Oh,” Tsukki drawls back. “Right.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, during which Tadashi wishes violently he could crawl into a pit and never emerge. Eventually, he says, “You guys really don’t have to be sorry. I was the one who was out of line. Now can we all just forget about it and pretend it never happened?”

Tsukki looks like he has half a mind to protest the whole time Tadashi is speaking, but in the end he says nothing, retreating back into a pensive silence. Hinata, meanwhile, nods eagerly. “Sure we can! I missed all four of us eating lunch together. Kageyama’s no fun at all!”

“Wha—”

As Hinata and Kageyama descend into playful wrestling with some colorful language added in, Tadashi sneaks a glance at Tsukki. Once again, he no longer looks mad but thoughtful, and Tadashi can’t help but wish there was a Tsukki-manual for times like these. Most people just _say_ what’s on their minds. Tadashi usually adores that about him, but right now, considering the possible subject matter of Tsukki’s thoughts, it’s only anxiety-inducing.

Tsukki eventually notices Tadashi looking and says, “I’ll go get our lunches. Have fun baby-sitting while I’m gone.” Tadashi nods stupidly and lets him go, muddling over just what in the hell he’s supposed to do now.

In the end, he settles for having lunch with his friends, things returning back to normal, and Tadashi relishes the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to breathe easy. Still, sometimes his fingers flit up to his face and he has to consciously push them down again. Still, Tsukki is a little quieter than usual and a little more watchful and Tadashi is just a bit on edge. Still.

But still. It’s better this way. Now, maybe he can gradually forget about this whole messy chapter of his life, and the endless nights spent staring back at his own face on his phone will disappear like a leaf in the wind.

\---

Scratch that, scratch everything he said before. Tadashi is not positive that he’s gotten worse, per se, but he certainly hasn’t gotten _better_. And if he were making a bet, he’d say it’s probably worse.

He’s in the family bathroom, this time, the one he only uses rarely, because he’d wanted to take a bath tonight instead of a shower, and everything _was_ normal.

That is, until he’d taken a glance at himself in the mirror and felt all the disgust come rushing back again all at once, and he’d had to turn on the bath faucet to conceal the sounds of his sobs. _This_ is not normal, he realizes foggily somewhere in the middle of his mind, it’s really—really not, but he can’t… there’s no logical reason, and yet he’s crying and watching himself cry and pinching at his side, revolted by how pale the skin there is, how skinny and bony and _ugly_ the sight in front of him is. 

The face he makes when he cries, it’s really—wet and red and raw and it makes Tadashi grip the fabric in his hands tighter—the force of the sadness coming out of him all at once surprises him, because really he didn’t _earn_ it, what did he do to hate his appearance _this much._

When he was a kid, before Tsukki came along and made everything better, sure, he was called ugly. They said his nose was crooked and his freckles made him look like a cow and his hair stuck up in weird places. Tadashi had gotten used to it. He thought it didn’t bother him anymore.

Maybe the words stuck with him more than he thought? It’s really the only explanation, and yet… maybe.

And another big part of it, Tadashi admits, is something to do with Tsukki and the way his hair is all fluffy and curly and his eyes are just too beautiful and the hardness in his jaw, the length of his body when he executes a block and the little curve of his mouth when he smiles. Because not only does Tadashi not have _any of that_ , he’s also started becoming aware that this is the way Tsukki sees _him_. 

What does Tsukki see when he looks at Tadashi? Because, god help him if it’s _this_ , the person who is looking back at Tadashi in the mirror, he might as well go drown himself in a river. He sobs again. Why, _why_ has Tsukki stuck with him for so long? When up until recently, Tadashi didn’t even think there was anything wrong with the way he looks, as if he’s _normal_?

Tadashi fingers the scab that’s become of the bump on his chin. He finally quiets, sniffling and the sound of running water becoming the only sounds in the house. His parents are probably getting ready for bed. An idea comes into his head. It’s awful, absolutely terrible, but…

There’s a pair of scissors in the cabinet, and some loose Band-Aids on the shelf. If his parents ask, he can just tell them he bumped his chin in the bathtub.

This pimple isn’t going away on its own. Tadashi read somewhere on the internet that popping them leaves a mark, and he can’t stand the sight of it anymore. He can’t stand it. So, hands shaking, he grabs the pair of scissors, eyes lifting from them to his reflection and then back again. He hesitates. Maybe… just maybe, if he cuts off the, ah… issue, it will go away? Go back to the way it was before? After it heals, if he could just… get rid of the bump, then…

Tadashi washes the scissors in an effort to compose himself. It doesn’t do much good except to make him more nervous. His legs feel like jelly just barely holding him upright. But, there; they’re sanitized and ready for use.

Tadashi lifts the scissors to his face and opens the blades around the pimple. His own reflection stares at him, terrified. He can barely keep himself from dropping the scissors and going back to bed, back to safety. He summons up the will to do it, about to close the gap, when—

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Tadashi startles so badly the scissors clatter to the ground. A sound, coming from his left pants pocket on the countertop, alerts him that he’d taken his phone with him to the bathroom, and it’s ringing. Tadashi searches through the fabric as fast as he can, shutting off the useless bathwater and leaving the room, breathing hard, and answers the phone without looking at the caller ID. He’s in the walk-in closet, he notices briefly, and he collapses on the ground.

“Hello?”

It’s Tsukki. Tsukki is calling him. Go on, Tadashi, say hi to Tsukki.

“H-Hi, Tsukki!”

“Hey. Ah, just wanted to let you know that I have your assignments.”

“What?”

“Your stuff, Yamaguchi. I must’ve taken it by accident. I can come bring it to you, if you want—?”

“No, no that’s fine! I mean, I’ll come get it right now. Uh—yeah. Now is good. See you soon, Tsukki,” Tadashi says and hangs up.

He curses, quietly at first and then louder. He really hopes his parents are asleep. What the fuck was he doing, just now? Why did he think that would be—that that would be—

Gah, now he’s crying again. That won’t do.

Tadashi returns to the bathroom and drains the bathtub. He puts his clothes back on. He does _not_ look at himself in the mirror.

… He slides the pair of scissors into his pocket.

At the last minute, Tadashi hesitates from leaving the room and throws a glance back at the Band-Aids. It’s true, he might not have—but, but he can’t let Tsukki see him like this either. He sloppily mounts the Band-Aid over the blemish without looking in the mirror and prays Tsukki won’t discover the reason behind it.

He returns to his room and deposits the scissors on the bed, then leaves the house. Tsukki’s house is about a twenty-minute round trip, so he won’t have to stay the night. Besides, he’s pretty sure he couldn’t handle that right now, what with the trembling, and the shallow breathing, and the wide, terrified eyes he’s been confronted with in the bathroom. No, it’s best he doesn’t give Tsukki any more to think about. Wouldn’t want him discovering the truth, now, would he?

When Tadashi knocks on the door, Tsukki answers almost immediately. He knows Tsukki’s parents are still awake, they’re all night owls, but Tsukki is punctual like that anyway.

Tsukki greets him and hands him the assignments. _Don’t ask, don’t ask, please please just don’t ask if there’s anything I have ever wanted more in this universe please—_

“Um, Yamaguchi. What’s with the Band-Aid?”

Tadashi’s eyes widen despite himself. He struggles to play it off, to pretend like he’s not _very extremely deeply_ terrified of himself right now.

“Nothing. Slipped in the bathtub,” Tadashi lies, smoothly enough, he thinks, until Tsukki catches his arm on the way to where it was probably going to finger that bump on his chin again. Maybe out of sheer habit. Tadashi goes still and curses himself for the second time that night.

Tadashi looks into Tsukki’s eyes. Warm light flows from the Tsukishima residence, igniting Tsukki in a gentle golden glow which renders Tadashi temporarily speechless. His eyes are _brilliant_. He can’t stand it, the sense of inferiority, the sense that he doesn’t even deserve the view.

Tsukki’s face is unguarded, his jaw hanging a little loose and his eyes focused on Tadashi alone, watching, thinking. “Stop that,” Tsukki says, belatedly. “You need to stop. You’ve been doing it all the time lately. It’s annoying. You’re annoying.”

“Sorry?” Tadashi says, baffled. Tsukki’s not annoyed. He’s intimately acquainted with the face Tsukki makes when he’s annoyed, and it’s not _that_.

“No,” Tsukki huffs. “I mean—I’m worried. About you.”

“About me?”

“About you,” Tsukki affirms. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Yamaguchi. We’re best friends, aren’t we?”

Tadashi has no idea what’s going on. He’d thought Tsukki was mulling over something _important_ , not—not whatever this is. “Of course,” he answers anyway.

“Then _tell me what’s wrong_.”

Tsukki’s features burn with determination, now, and Tadashi gets the feeling he’s been planning this speech for a while. Still. He can’t let Tsukki know what this is about. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t. He wants to cry, wants to shove his face in Tsukki’s stomach and sob his eyes out and tell him everything. But he can’t. How would Tsukki even comfort him? By telling him he’s wrong? That Tadashi’s not a hideous monster compared to everyone around him, parading around as if he’s normal? But that’s just unrealistic.

Tadashi has to avert his eyes, because Tsukki’s words are almost too much. Too pure, too beautiful, too—too.

“Sorry, Tsukki,” he chuckles emptily, and watches with mounting regret as Tsukki blanks once again in shock. “I have to get going. Thanks for the notes.”

With that, he runs. All the way back to his house. And when he gets home, Tadashi collapses on his bed and shoves the scissors and unfinished assignments into his schoolbag and sheds tears he didn’t even know he had. Tsukki doesn’t try to call him, doesn’t come running after him, because that’s just not his style.

And Tadashi is okay with all of that. Really.

\---

Tadashi can barely hold it together during practice the next day. He’s been ignoring Tsukki because he doesn’t trust himself to hold it together when he sees him again, and the whole team is giving him weird looks, but he’s okay with that. As long as Tsukki doesn’t find out about his secret.

Hinata tries to reach out to him, as Tadashi picks at the rubber on his water bottle during break—but he just really, really can’t be faced with sympathy right now, because he’s skating on thin ice and two milliseconds and a misstep away from crashing into the freezing water below. Eventually, Kageyama comes and drags Hinata away, muttering something in the redhead’s ear which makes his eyes go wide. Tadashi doesn’t care enough to find out what it is.

After practice, Tadashi slips away to the bathroom. He can’t take it any more. He faces his reflection head-on, watches his face twist in disgust, and _growls_. It’s not fair, it’s just not fair that he’s so—that he’s so—

Tadashi rips off the Band-Aid and rifles through his bag until his hands hit upon something sharp and hard. He yanks the scissors free. He looks at the pimple on his face in the mirror, maybe a centimeter’s length in diameter, and squeezes it between his fingers. It goes white for a moment, until the blood returns. He hates it so much he could die. It teases him, marring his face in the white artificial light of the bathroom, and Tadashi holds the scissors to the thing.

This is it. He needs it gone. It’s the most ugly thing he’s ever seen, and it can’t, it _can’t_ be on his face for a second longer, and it feels like the longer he waits the worse it gets, and he starts to close the blades around it when—

He’s interrupted for the second time.

Tsukki comes barrelling out of nowhere, tackling Tadashi to the ground and snatching the scissors from his limp hands before Tadashi can even register that his body is no longer upright.

“What—” Tsukki heaves, “the _fuck_ are you doing?”

Tears rush into Tadashi’s eyes, uninhibited due to the shock of the impact and the feeling of Tsukki’s body heavy on his. “I—I don’t know—”

“Yes you do and I need you to tell me _right now_ what exactly the _fuck_ you were doing or I swear to god Yamaguchi—” Tsukki cuts himself off with a sharp inhale.

And then Tadashi suddenly flashes back to before, in this same bathroom, when Tsukki almost caught him crying. Something about disgust, or contempt, about how Tsukki just doesn’t _do_ fear. Tadashi realizes with horrified clarity that _this is it_ ; the raw, concentrated version, right in front of him, untempered and unchecked. This, more than anything, is what causes Tadashi to truly hate himself.

“I’m so sorry, Tsukki,” he gasps, desperately apologetic. “So sorry, I d-didn’t tell you anything, I just—I tried to ignore it I think and I-I-I—”

His eyes widen, and he goes silent. Tsukki notices almost immediately and his head whips around to stare accusingly at Hinata, Sugawara, and Tanaka who have crept about a foot into the bathroom. Tadashi’s entire body turns to molten lava, embarrassment crashing over him and threatening to consume him. Weak and helpless.

“Get. out.” Tsukki’s voice is quiet and dangerous.

“But—” Hinata protests, eyes hovering over Tadashi, who flinches violently.

“I said _leave_ ,” orders Tsukki, louder this time, voice gaining an edge of fury. Tadashi is pathetically grateful when they all nod and exit, cowed. He breathes a sigh of relief.

Tsukki lifts himself off Tadashi to set the scissors on the sink, and Tadashi immediately misses the contact. The thought provokes a rush of guilt. God, what has he been doing? Why did he ever think—

“Yamaguchi?”

Tadashi snaps back into the present, where Tsukki has settled next to him on the ground, crowded in between a stall and the garbage can. “Yamaguchi,” he says again, “I need you to tell me what I just saw.”

Tadashi’s eyes burn. God, he’s crying again. “I-It’s really weird,” Tadashi says. “You’ll hate me.”

He shyly lifts his eyes to gauge Tsukki’s reaction, wondering if just that knowledge would be enough for Tsukki to maybe drop the subject, and he can continue being—miserable, and, and _himself_ forever.

Tsukki’s face is wrought with pain. “Yamaguchi,” he says, “I won’t. That’s not even something—I mean, if I made you think that—”

“No!”

Tsukki’s eyes go wide.

“I mean, it’s not your fault, Tsukki, it’s really really just me, just me and my _stupid_ face and—”

“Your face,” Tsukki interrupts. “Is that what the scissors were for?”

Tadashi shudders, whimpers, and nods slowly. “I wanted to get rid of it, the worst parts, everything—”

“What do you mean, everything?” Tsukki’s voice is sharp.

“What I said,” Tadashi gasps. “I hate it, Tsukki, I hate it so much I can’t stand it.”

Even now, he feels dirty just sitting so close to Tsukki, being given so much attention he doesn’t deserve.

“Hate _what_?” Tsukki pushes. “Whatever it is we can deal with it if you’d just tell me what you—”

“ _Myself_ ,” Tadashi cries out desperately. It rings so loud in the bathroom. Tsukki’s face goes blank.

“What?” he croaks out. “What do you mean?”

A fresh round of tears runs down Tadashi’s face. He wipes them away with his hands. It stings. Everything hurts. His back hurts from being toppled over into a bathroom stall, his head hurts from the uncontrollable sobbing he’s been doing, his chin hurts from the picking at his face, his eyes sting and his stomach feels upset, but most of all his chest hurts. There’s nothing physically wrong with it. There’s no underlying medical conditions, nothing more noteworthy than what it is; his heart is just aching.

Tadashi sniffs and says, “I mean what I said. I’m h-hideous. Ugly. I hate myself so much, Tsukki, I can’t stand it.”

“You—you’re not serious,” Tsukki says. “ _That’s_ what all this was about? The-the thing Hinata showed you, and the mirror, and the Band-Aid and the scissors? I thought—I thought maybe you were… depressed, something like that, but…”

Tadashi chuckles humorlessly and shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much, I don’t know, it’s just—Tsukki, I’ll be fine and then I see my face in the mirror, and it’s—it’s—”

Tadashi struggles for words. There’s a lump in his throat the size of Jupiter. He averts his eyes, trying to collect himself in front of his childhood friend. He’s so embarrassed, Tsukki’s never seen him like this before and he’s so embarrassed it’s killing him, but then something strange happens, and he’s suddenly engulfed in warmth.

It takes him a second to realize that the warmth is _Tsukki_ , arms crashed around his body, glasses mushed up against the temple above Tadashi’s ear, so warm and breathing and gentle, stroking his forehead with his thumb.

“Tsukki—why—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tsukki mutters against his skin. His voice is choked. “You didn’t have to suffer alone like that. God, Tadashi—”

Tsukki pulls him closer, their bodies slotting together so welcome and warm it almost makes Tadashi start sobbing again. When he turns his head, he notices with a jolt that his hair is wet, cold as it clings to his ears. Is he—could Tsukki be—

“Tadashi,” Tsukki says again. “You’re wrong. I hate you so much. When did—who told you that? Why would you—”

“Tsukki, calm down,” Tadashi says for perhaps the first and only time in his life. “It’s okay.”

“It’s _not_!” Tsukki snaps suddenly, peeling them apart to glare at Tadashi.

Tadashi’s suspicions are confirmed when he lifts a finger and quickly swipes at the corner of Tsukki’s eye. He pulls his hand back just in time to not be swatted away, and stares at the wetness in wonder. “Tsukki,” he says, stunned.

“What?” A pause. “Oh.”

Tsukki’s cheeks are pink. Tadashi wishes, hypocritically, that he had a camera right now. “Don’t make fun of me, Yamaguchi, you know it’s only because—”

He cuts himself off, and sniffles. “Yamaguchi. Who told you you’re ugly?”

Tadashi shrugs. “I don’t know, really. No one recently. Maybe before I met—before I met you,” he says, more emotionally than he would have liked. “I just started noticing the way I looked in the mirror, sometimes, and I thought—you know—I started seeing, um, _things_. That I didn’t like. And then it sort of got worse.”

“Oh,” Tsukki says thickly. “Did you ever think to, ah, _ask_ someone what they thought of your… appearance?”

Tadashi gives him a funny look. He’s so uncomfortable. “I asked my mom,” he admits. “She said I’m as handsome as my dad. Isn’t that weird?”

Tsukki won’t look at him as he says, “It’s not true.”

Tadashi flinches. “I—I know, I know she just said it to be nice ‘cause she’s my mom but—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tsukki interrupts. His voice is flat, completely emotionless as he says, “I meant that you’re beautiful.”

Tadashi startles. “B- _beautiful_ , Tsukki?” he stammers, squeaks more like, turning the most impressive shade of red all day. Tsukki’s face remains a light, gentle pink as he nods, apparently unwilling to take it back.

“That’s—that can’t be true,” Tadashi protests. “I mean, look at you! You’re the most attractive person I’ve ever seen!”

Tsukki’s eyes snap to attention. “What?” he mumbles to himself, and only now does Tadashi realize how that sounds.

“I mean—that’s not what I meant—well, it is, it’s just!” Tadashi tries to breathe even as Tsukki continues to stare at him incredulously. “I just don’t get it. Why you let me stay by your side even though you’re so—well, gorgeous—and I’m so hideous. Tsukki, what would make you understand? Look at my hair! It’s ratty and it always has tangles in it, and my skin is bad and gets acne easily, and there’s freckles all over me, and I have an overbite and my eyes are too small and my nose is crooked and—”

“Shut up,” Tsukki says again, viciously this time. “I said what I said and I meant it. You’re beautiful. And wrong,” he amends and tangles his hands in Tadashi’s hair. “First of all, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with your hair. It’s healthy and thick and dark and exactly what it should be; no tangles.” Here, Tsukki runs his fingers through Tadashi’s hair to demonstrate, unwittingly prompting a shiver to run down Tadashi’s spine. “See? And it’s nice, the way it hangs. And here—” Tsukki strokes a thumb up the side of Tadashi’s face, where his cheekbones meet the roots of hair above his ear— “your skin is perfectly soft. I have no idea where you got the idea it was bad.” Tsukki shifts his focus to Tadashi’s chin, knocking the blemish gently with the knuckles of his hand. “And here,” he says defiantly, “is perfectly normal. Lots of teens get acne worse than you, believe me. And besides, it’s temporary. No reason to worry about it.” Tsukki narrows his eyes. “And your freckles are cute. I’ve never understood anyone who says otherwise,” he remarks, and Tadashi blushes again. His cheek feels overly sensitive where it came into contact with Tsukki’s thumb, and he resists the urge to cup the spot with his hand.

Undaunted, Tsukki lists, “If you have an overbite, I can’t see it. Or maybe you do, and it just makes you look better. Either way. And your nose is fine, if it’s crooked it adds to your charm. And your eyes are—um—”

Tsukki hesitates and half-studies, half-stares for a moment. Tadashi shrinks under his assessing gaze. “Like a cat’s. Kind and sharp and, and, just so—”

Tsukki breaks off, seeming to have reached his limit. He looks away and growls, “God, Yamaguchi, what even is there to say? They’re just _you_ , there’s nothing wrong with it and I—I, um…”

Very softly, Tsukki says, “I love it.”

Tadashi goes cold. He’s not sure his ears are working. “What?” he intones, wanting desperately to know if what he heard was right or—

“Everything,” Tsukki admits, head ducked, tugging at the ends of his bangs. An old habit.

“Everything?” Tadashi parrots.

“God, yes, Tadashi,” Tsukki says, finally peeking up from beneath his eyelashes and _god that’s cute_ , Tadashi thinks. The way he says his name, Tadashi thinks, it’s special and it’s new and it makes his heart ache even more.

“You mean—like—”

“No, Tadashi. I just said I love everything about you _platonically_ ,” Tsukki groans, and rolls his eyes.

“Ts-Tsukki—” Tadashi gasps.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” Tsukki says by pure habit and leans in for a kiss. Tadashi hungrily accepts and their lips come crashing together, inexperienced and breathless and passionate and something Tadashi just realized he’s kind of _always_ wanted, but he just never noticed before. The compliments come flooding back to his consciousness until even the back of his neck and the tips of his ears are burning brightly, but he doesn’t pull away because, because because, it feels like all the affection he’s kept inside is pouring out, limitless for Tsukki, never ending and replenishing, revitalizing, tender and underappreciated and sweet, and so, _so_ warm. Tsukki’s hands are on his shoulders and he wishes it could stay this way forever.

Minutes, seconds? hours? later, Tsukki pulls back. “Ah, Tadashi,” he starts. “This might be a bad question, but just out of curiosity, what were you doing with the scissors?”

Tadashi’s face flushes, from embarrassment this time. “Tsukki, you don’t understand, I thought—I thought maybe if I cut off the, ahm—”

Tsukki blanches at the word “cut.” “I see. That’s ridiculous. Don’t do that again,” he orders, and Tadashi nods. “Sorry, Tsukki,” he says, and Tsukki lays his head on his shoulder.

Tadashi, not knowing what else to do, tangles his fingers in Tsukki’s hair and giggles. “Tadashi, what are you doing?” Tsukki mumbles, nothing but weary affection in his voice.

“Nothing,” Tadashi says. “Something I’ve wanted to do for awhile now.”

They leave the bathroom some time later, Tsukki’s hand circled around Tadashi’s wrist. Once they discover the coast is clear, Tsukki breathes a sigh of relief and Tadashi laughs and the two begin the journey home.

“Tsukki?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Tsukki looks at him dubiously, then snorts. “For what?”

Tadashi smiles. “For the pep talk,” he says, and Tsukki goes pink, “and also for… um, not giving up when I didn’t tell you what was wrong.”

Tsukki scoffs. “Giving up wasn’t even an option,” he says.

“Exactly!” Tadashi answers brightly. “You’ve never given up on me, as long as we’ve known each other.”

“Neither have you,” Tsukki admits after a moment. “Even with volleyball, when I was ready to give up…”

“Don’t worry about it, Tsukki,” Tadashi waves him off. “It’s in the past.”

Tsukki looks up, and smiles. It takes Tadashi’s breath away. “You’re right.”

They walk in silence for a little while. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Tsukki says, “You’re beautiful.”

Tadashi stops dead in his tracks and gapes. “D-don’t tease me like that, Tsukki!” he whines once he’s recovered.

“I’m not,” Tsukki says seriously, looking Tadashi straight in the eye. “I’ll say it as often as I have to.”

Tadashi tries to laugh. “W—what for?”

“Because you don’t believe it yet,” Tsukki says. “So I’ll say it until you do.”

“Okay, fine,” Tadashi sputters, “but… _beautiful_ , Tsukki?”

Tsukki shrugs, falling back into his old smirk. “What, you don’t like it? How about ‘gorgeous,’ then? Isn’t that what you called me earlier? Or… cute? You’re adorable. Handsome? Attractive? Stunning? Hold on, let me check Google.”

“No!” Tadashi shrieks, laughing as Tsukki mimes pulling out his phone. “You win, you win! Beautiful is… fine, I guess.”

Tsukki looks smug. “Wonderful. Beautiful.”

Tadashi knocks their shoulders together, overwhelmed by affection for a moment. “You know, Tsukki… you know how they say ‘a cat may look at a king’?”

“No,” Tsukki says. “Never heard it before in my life.”

Tadashi side-eyes him critically. “It’s from English. It means that even the low-class have rights, just because they’re alive. Like, even though they’re so far apart they have something in common which evens them out.” Tadashi pauses, lost in thought. “D’you think you and I are like that?”

Tsukki gives Tadashi a look. Eventually, he grins, shuffles closer and says, “Not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! Let me know if you liked it or if you found a typo somewhere, this is kind of unedited :D. Ah well. Thank you for reading!


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